


Got These Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s01e01 Pilot, M/M, Mentions of Underage, Porn with Feelings, Sam's Eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Enjoy my sad porn, will I ever chill out about sams eyes? No, never.</p><p>*casually ignores canon except for what is convenient*</p>
    </blockquote>





	Got These Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy my sad porn, will I ever chill out about sams eyes? No, never.
> 
> *casually ignores canon except for what is convenient*

Dean has always had a thing for his brother's eyes. Everyday they seem to be a different color, the blue of the sky or the oceany green and even a swirl of brown on certain days. They're classified as "hazel" but Dean doesn't want to put such a lame label on those beautiful eyes.

For years, since Sammy was a baby and Dean was rushin them both out of the fire, he's been looking into those eyes. He's seen them scared, wide with anxiety. Dean thinks about how afraid he'd look when Dad or Dean left on a hunt. Sam was always worrying about Dean, though he was supposed to stay oblivious. He was the baby dammit; he shouldn't have to carry those burdens. Scared in that hotel with a monster who tried to get him while he was sleeping. So many times he's seen those eyes in never ending shades of fear. Everytime horrible.

He's seen those eyes full of joy, the kind of love and freedom that kids should always have but Sam rarely ever got. Usually because of Dean himself and that alone was enough for him. His favorite moment in 1994 Fourth of July. Sam's eyes had been blue, so very blue, and the light of the fireworks made him more gorgeous than Dean could handle. That night was their first kiss. The first time Dean knew Sam filled in all his missing pieces.

The determination in Sam's eyes as he devoured every piece of knowledge he could, be it school work or on a case. The way his jaw set and his eyebrows furrowed. Sam could never handle not knowing. The crease in his brow always reminds Dean of the first time Sam got on his knees for him. The intense focus that he had as he tried to give Dean a blow job, not stopping until Dean yanked his hair too hard because oversensitivity.

Sam's eyes stone hard in anger, in stubbornness. His childish petulance over cereal or more food that Dean always fulfilled even if it meant being hungry himself. The anger as Sam fought for a normal life, even as he crawled into Dean's bed night after night. Anger at their father for not taking better care of them, Dean in particular. No matter how hard Dean tried Sam always put him first. The worst night of Dean's life was seeing the hatred in his Sammy's, then almost olive green, eyes as he looked from John to Dean. He said he was leaving and then he was gone.

Now Dean looks over at his little brother. On his shitty motel bed looking at all of Dean's admittedly meager research. But Sam was always the smart one, right?

The tension from early was still like a live wire, the current sparking with slightest agitation. The drive had been worse, the small fight had left Dean with an uncomfortable lump in his jeans and Sam wouldn't look him in the eye. There's the sound of pages flipping and the click of computer keys. It's late and Dean wants to say something; he wants to fix this but he's not the one who goddamn broke it. He almost wishes he could've just hated Sam or maybe even been able to exist with out him.

But he also doesn't. Sam is his purpose, Sam was the reason he didn't give up and as much as he hates himself he's glad he had the chance to see Sam again. He tries not to think about before, he tries not to think about how much Sam's grown and how much bigger he is. The slope of his nose is still the same, and his hands are still a bit too big. Dean wonders if Jessica has noticed, counted, collected the many shades of Sam's eyes. Because if she hasn't then she isn't worth the trouble.

It's late when Dean finally gets to bed. He thinks it okay that he's forfeiting because there's only so much one man can take. He's not even asleep when Sam creeps into his bed.

Sam's hand crawling around to his stomach and his bigger body pressed against Dean's. They're quiet except for the creak of the bed springs, not really even breathing. Dean wants to turn to face him. He wants to see if he can distinguish the color of Sam's eyes even in the dark."Dean " Sam's voice is breathless and so much deeper than Dean remembers. The silence is broken with the plea and Dean doesn't bother with any semblance of dignity. He's turned around faster than should be possible. Their mouths connect and there should be fireworks going off, there should be the click of the lock because they slot together too perfectly to be separated.

Sam's hands are grabbing onto his shirt and he's trying to pull it up but Dean doesn't want to bother with it because that means he'll have to move away. Dean grabs onto the sides of Sam's face, enjoying how smooth it feels considering he's sporting a major 5 o'clock shadow. Sam hooks a leg over his and pushes them over so he's on top of Dean. They pull apart, panting and dragging in shudders of air. Sam pulls so hard at Dean's shirt it tears and he has no choice but to throw it out of the way. Dean doesn't remember when Sam got so bold, and he guesses that four years apart does that. He cringes as he remembers that he missed so much.

Sam's shirt is gone next because Dean needs more places to put his mouth on. Dean is awestruck in the glory of his baby brother. The awkward gangly boy-man who left at eighteen is now a twenty two year old god. Dean almost feels embarrassed by the small piece of pudge that lines his stomach. So Dean returns to leaving wet, sloppy kisses to warm skin and tries not to suck the bruises he really wants to.

Sam struggles to pull back for a moment, not entirely sure if he wants to especially when Dean says his name. "Sam" God, he pauses and Dean can see how hard he's trying not to shudder. "C'mon Sammy, just for tonight, c'mon."

"Ju-just for night?" The moonlight, and streetlights coming through the ugly curtains illuminate Sam's profile just enough for Dean to see the longing and fear in his eyes. He's moving before he can think, pushing in a truly upright position, his forehead against Sam's.

"Yeah..yeah Sammy, my Sammy, just tonight." Dean knows that they could stop now and just go on pretending there's nothing there. But while Dean is a strong man, bearing a weight heavier than most, he isn't strong enough to be the one who stops this. His life for the past four years have been almost revolving around this moment. Sam is the one who kisses him, slower but his lips are still strong against Dean's. Sam's mouth opens before Dean and he's always be everything Dean didn't know he needed.

Their hands are roaming across bare torsos, and their teeth click painfully as the air around them starts to heat up. A hand tugs at shaggy brown hair Sam moans; Dean smirks and pulls harder. Some things never change. Sam fumbles for the zipper of Dean's jeans but his excess of limb and arousal make it difficult. Dean keeps a hand in his brother's hair and one handedly opens his jeans not bothering to hide the smugness of the trick. Sam ruts against him and Dean moans, reluctantly he releases the locks in his grip and works to push his jeans down. San whines all high pitch and frustration, his pants looking extremely uncomfortable to Dean. Sam's mouth is sloppy a on his; it leaves a wet trail as it travels down his jaw. There's sweat building all over their bodies and Sam's hair is a fucking mess.

"D-dean" Sam begins while thrusting against his brother. The scratch of denim makes him wince. "I got ya Sammy, I got you" The words are slurred but Sam knows that Dean is helping him that's what he does. His shaky hands grasp at the jeans. He takes a minute to open them because his head is swimming, and the way Sam is sucking his pulse point doesn't help. But then his pants are down and unlike Dean he's actually got underwear because Sam's a wholesome boy, he doesn't just go commando ready to get off with who ever offers.

Sam hisses at the hand that curls around his erection through the fabric. Sliding the cotton over heated flesh, not giving him the right satisfaction. With a chuckle Dean gets the boxers down but they stay biting into the skin of Sam's thighs. This position isn't really good for their current situation but Dean doesn't care about anything except Sam.

Dean kisses Sam. It's a sloppy thing with too much tongue and not enough lip. His hand returns to Sam's cock, stroking it languidly, he wants to draw this out as long as possible. Sam whines and thrusts into his grip but the pace doesn't change. Sam moans and the sound reminds Dean of his own painful arousal. Thinking, Dean takes his hand off Sam, who whimpers in protest. He remembers when they were younger, and reluctantly spits into his palm. He grabs his own erection and presses it to Sam's, a shudder going through both of them, he holds them with the wet hand. Only Sam's cock isn't one of a eighteen year old and Dean can barely keep a grip on the both of them. Sam has  no complaints however a resumes his hurried rutting. The friction is wonderful and easy from the spit and precum leaking from Sam. 

Sam attaches his mouth to his brother's skin chewing sloppily on his collar bone and biting when he feels the pleasure building inside him. Sam comes first, mumbling into the curve of Dean's neck.  He pants as Dean continues moving his hand until Sam winces with oversensitivity. So Dean lets go of Sam's soft dick, now focusing on his own orgasm. Chasing the pleasure until his come mixes with Sam's on his sticky hand. 

In the foggy afterglow Dean moves to kiss Sam again, trying to get a taste of him but Sam recoils. Hands on Dean's shoulders to keep him away. Just like that and Sam's gone. Just out of reach out when Dean finally thinks he's got him. Sam always did sober faster from the post coital bliss. 

Sam sits back, shaggy hair clinging to his face, and moves his weight off of Dean. The space he occupied still warm;the relief of pressure unwelcome. He's standing and Dean reaches out before thinking better of it. He doesn't want to start some chick flick moment, god forbid. There's a soft click as the bathroom door closes and the shower starts soon  after. Dean doesn't need to imagine how Sam would be scrubbing his skin, trying to rub the dirty guilt off his skin. Dean knows, he did it himself when they'd first started it up. 

Grabbing his discarded shirt Dean wipes the drying semen from his skin. He settles himself under the covers and lets the exhaustion take him in to sleep. He doesn't really want to be conscious when Sam comes back anyways.

In the morning Dean is up before Sam, and he wonders if it would be worth the struggle to just leave now. Just ditch his stuff, grab the journal and research and take off in Baby. But then Sam stirs in his lumpy motel bed and Dean can't bring himself to do more than get dressed and start to pack. They need to get started on the search, Dean needs to find John not because he's their dad, but to be able to let Sam live his apple pie life. With out John, Dean doesn't have it within himself to give up Sam so easily. He's not a good man, he's not a strong man either, but he's a good brother even if it means sacrificing himself for Sam.

(Later he checks and sees that Sam's eyes are blue, his favorite blue and if that isn't the damnedest thing.)

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is lovely, just do not be rude :)


End file.
